


Thawing Ice Man

by TheTalentedMrHolmes



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Not Beta Read, mention of drug use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-26
Updated: 2014-04-26
Packaged: 2018-01-20 20:55:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1525379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTalentedMrHolmes/pseuds/TheTalentedMrHolmes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock’s relapsed and the threat of rehab looms. A desperate Greg tries to get Mycroft to see reason. It seems he doesn’t need much persuading after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thawing Ice Man

**Author's Note:**

> Mystrade first kiss for a friend.

“You are _not_ taking him to bloody rehab!” Cried Greg Lestrade, only barely keeping his voice down to avoid alerting the young detective in his spare bedroom of the presence of his older brother in the flat.

The youngest Holmes brother had been staying with him for the past several months after he had stumbled up his corridor to knock on his door, high as a kite. The young man had immediately told him the answer to his latest case and they'd had a little chat about illegal drugs.

Well, Greg spoke, Sherlock shivered from the coldness of the icy bath he had been forced into.

They had picked up a strange friendship and decided it was best if they worked together to help keep him off the drugs before Greg let him into crime scenes.

The eldest Holmes brother had stopped by the next day and reluctantly agreed to their plan. He continued to check in every few weeks and Greg often found himself waiting for the next meeting like a druggie for a fix.

This latest meeting happened in the early hours of the morning (Greg wasn't even dressed yet, for fuck's sake) after a relapse Sherlock had during the night. It had been three months since his last, but something had pushed the young man over the edge and Greg would tease it out of him sooner or later.

Sherlock was resting up now and Mycroft looked as ill and ashen as Sherlock had that first night as he announced that he would be sending his little brother to rehab.

"That is _the_ worst idea. He doesn't need all that treatment, he needs someone who can take care of him and give him a bit of tough love! Obviously that's never going to be you, so I think you’ll find he's my responsibility." Greg continued, his cheeks red as he fought for Sherlock. “And I say he’s not going.”

"It is the most practical option we have, Gregory. I told my dear brother that this would be the result if he relapsed again. He has made his decision." Came the easy reply from the cool, unchangeable robot that was Sherlock's brother. It was supposed to be calming and firm, but it only served to heat Greg up further.

“It doesn’t work like that! And don't call him that. He hates it when you call him that. Get out and don't you dare have the gall to come back - you don't understand him!" He said, pointing to the door.

"Surely you can see how this benefits you? Why, with your recent divorce you aren't able to handle the extra emotional baggage that comes with caring for a sick mind." Mycroft replied, raising an eyebrow that made Greg see red.

"Like you give a shit about any of that!" Greg cried, no longer caring about waking Sherlock. He walked forwards, wanting to crowd Mycroft and force him back. But Mycroft stood his ground and they were forehead to forehead, eyeing each other up like professional fighters. Greg snarled. "You come in here like you care about Sherlock, like you care about me, but all you care about is the game plan. You don't care what happens to us, as long as it gets results. And-"

As Greg was raging, cool hands cupped his throat and jaw, and equally cool lips pressed against his. The words died in his throat and, despite knowing this was just manipulation, Greg released a soft grunt and pressed close.

Now Mycroft stepped back, leading Greg with him as their kiss grew. Greg released his pent up anger and lust and exhaustion onto Mycroft, pushing him against the wall with enough force that a book fell from it's shelf with a thud.

Mycroft's hands were a steady constant at his waist now, lightly holding him in place. In contrast Greg's were tugging at Mycroft's tie, at his hair, at his lapels. He wanted to consume the bastard, let him _know_ \- truly know - what it was like to care so much that it burned.

He pressed his front firmly against Mycroft's, pushing a leg between the taller man's as cool buttons dug into the hot flesh of his chest. He was met with a mutual hardness against his crotch and he let out a groan of surprise and delight into Mycroft's mouth. In response, Mycroft started to pick up the pace, his hands now travelling downwards to cup Greg's arse through his pyjama bottoms.

A creak had Greg pulling away, quick like lightning.  _Fuck._

He was flushed, sweaty, heart pounding, and there was a clear outline of his erection through his bottoms. He looked down the dark hallway that led to the spare room - Sherlock's room - and only untensed after a minute of silence.

He looked back to Mycroft, who had set himself to rights, and kissed him again before the bastard could say anything stupid.

"He's not going to rehab. Please, he's been doing so well here. I know you love him, let him stay." He whispered softly against Mycroft's lips, regret a present note in his voice. He shouldn't have accused Mycroft of being so cold hearted, but what else was he to think when he suggested such ridiculous plans like rehab?

"I will... Reassess my decision, Gregory." Mycroft said quietly with some reluctance. He pressed his lips together and stepped back, smoothing down the front of his suit. "I suggest that you get some rest. You know how awful he is the morning after."

Greg did know. And Mycroft probably knew more than he. Greg could see the worry in Mycroft's eyes now and wondered if Mycroft had genuinely believed that rehab was the best - and the most kind - option for Sherlock.

Greg nodded. "He'll be alright," he murmured reassuringly, looking into the earnest grey eyes of the other man.

"I certainly hope so, Gregory. I tell the truth as I say the loss of him would break my heart. He is very important to me."

"Come back. Later today. Or whenever you're free. He really has been getting better and it's support he needs. I know it doesn't seem like it, but he does like it when you come by." He replied, trying not to seem pathetic and failing. Mycroft didn’t seem to notice.

"Thank you for the offer, I will come by as soon as I am available. I also think we should arrange a private meeting, you and I." Mycroft added and Greg caught the glance to his lips.

 _Fuck._ "Yes," Greg said with a little smile, rubbing his hand over his own slightly scratchy jaw with a chuckle. God, it was too early for all of this."Yeah, text me. We can find some abandoned factory to meet up in."

"How terribly witty, but perhaps a restaurant may be more to your tastes," Mycroft replied with a meaningful look and a brief smile of his own. He nodded to Greg and made his leave.

Greg stood in the middle of his living room with a smile on his face and a hard on in his boxers. He breathed a sigh of relief and shook his head in wonderment.  _Fuck._

 

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments appreciated :)


End file.
